


falling asleep on a stranger

by iwaoidk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, IwaOi Week, Iwaoi Week: Day 4, M/M, Regret, Wedding Night, i guess?, i promise no one dies this time, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoidk/pseuds/iwaoidk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Iwaizumi, you end up missing the one thing you always had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	falling asleep on a stranger

 

> _"If you love her," I said, "you'll love somebody else someday."_ - _Sylvia Plath_

There's a cigarette parting his lips, wind pushing through his hair, and Iwaizumi can only guess that the taste at the back of his throat is something like sadness. There's a tree pressing between his shoulder blades, there's grass under his dress shoes, and he should be laughing, he should be smiling.

 _But he's not_.

The stars are walking backwards tonight, and there's laughter from the tables that sounds so far away. Oikawa's is loudest of all, light and airy, velvet slipping over the rough edges of broken glass. He looks handsome tonight, he's pretty alright, pressed in a white suit with a bow tie in the hollow of his throat. He's all long limbs and narrow hips, he's all fair skin and too-big smiles, he's a hurricane under the exterior of gentle raindrops and Iwaizumi hates that he's the only one who can see it.

He hates that she can't even see it, she can't, the girl with a ring that's a reflection of the one around Oikawa's finger, the one who kissed him half an hour ago and promised an always, the one who Oikawa had kissed and promised a forever. _  
_

Iwaizumi holds the smoke in his lungs until it burns, and then he slowly pushes it from his lips, eyes closed. The cold night air is kissing his fingers, almost like an apology, and the moment he sees Oikawa take her hand when they dance, he's ready to cry.

 

 

 

> _"There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice."_ - _F. Scott Fitzgerald_

Iwaizumi couldn't really remember when he realized that his heart always stuttered out of time when Oikawa touched him. Maybe there was nothing to remember, because 'always' meant that it stretched infinitely in both directions of the timeline, and trying to find a moment that started an always ago never got you anywhere.

He remembered once that he'd felt something so fierce for Oikawa that he'd almost gotten a nosebleed, he'd screamed from the inside out because he didn't  _want_ to feel that, he couldn't and wouldn't. But he did. And he knew he was getting into something he shouldn't.

Oikawa had been one of those kids who liked to pretend. He liked to play games where they had roles, where he could hide under the name and tongue of someone that he wasn't, and he liked to do this long after they'd outgrown the age. They'd been fifteen and wiry, all wrist bones and kneecaps in high school. In high school and Oikawa still liked to play pretend, he still liked to give himself the simple pleasure of not having to think in his own head. Fifteen and still liked to imagine, and that was enough for the other people to talk about him through their teeth and quiet throats. 

There was one time that some other first-years decided that he was different,  _too_ different, and they'd slammed him against the wall of a building after the last class had released. Pinned him there by the shoulders, laughed, knuckles against cheekbones and skin against stinging palms. 

They'd walk home together, him and Oikawa. Every day, down the same sidewalks, shoulders bumping enough to make Iwaizumi stop breathing. And when Iwaizumi saw that Oikawa hadn't been waiting for him to start home, he knew something was wrong.

Then he heard someone clapping, someone else shouting, and the empty air where someone should have been screaming but wasn't. He'd walked around the edge of the building to find Oikawa's back on the concrete of the ground, a fist just a centimeter from his nose, and then Iwaizumi felt something break. Maybe it was inside him, maybe it was between his bones and it was twisted around his rib cage and maybe it was a tsunami of everything he couldn't have, but he broke, and when he broke he jumped. When he jumped, he landed on the first-year on top of Oikawa, he slammed into him until Oikawa was left alone on the ground and Iwaizumi couldn't do anything but hit. Blows against chins, split lips, grunts and pants and drops of blood on uniforms that weren't clean anymore of anything, and the group of boys turned and ran as soon as Iwaizumi let the first-year between his fists go.

He'd turned to find Oikawa still on his back, looking up at the trees, and he had blood streaming from his nose and his cheeks were red and there was a cut on his forehead that certainly didn't look painless, but the worst part was that he was pretty as ever. Bruised, bleeding, on the ground with emotion just north of blank, and he looked like he was in some form of restless repose that cut Iwaizumi worse than the fists did. Even perfect when he cried, Oikawa was, even beautiful when there was wind blowing against his skin from the inside.

He'd sat up without a word of thanks, and stood to walk home.

 

 

 

> _"I have to remind myself to breathe - almost to remind my heart to beat."_ - _Emily Brontë_

He got to a point where he couldn't bear it, Iwaizumi couldn't. His chest was too tight and his hands shook too much and he couldn't quite breathe without stopping to compare his heartbeat to the syllables of Oikawa's name. It got to be too much, and he was seventeen, seventeen and sturdy as shattered glass that had been cemented back into place ( _the cracks never went away_ ). 

Iwaizumi always felt like there was a rubber band around his throat, brought around to tie another round with each day that he took Oikawa home, with each day of an affectionate "Iwa-chan~" and it always seemed to hurt the most when Oikawa was talking about someone else and he was smiling. Selfish and cruel, Iwaizumi thought of himself, an awful person for not being able to appreciate his best friend's happiness. But he couldn't help it, couldn't help it when he felt his lungs being pounded into his back and the flutter of Oikawa's eyelashes slowly making a home in his veins.

Seventeen with a sturdy build and strong hands, Iwaizumi could still feel his legs shake when he looked at Oikawa.

He had just walked Oikawa home, taken him to his front steps and that was already a little further than he usually went. Oikawa was was still sixteen, barely a month behind, gorgeous and light-skinned with hair that bounced when he walked and a smile that didn't quite lift his cheeks like it used to. He certainly grew into his looks, clumsy limbs replaced with strong arms and long legs and a broad chest. He was taller than Iwaizumi now, and the same word that Iwaizumi used time and time again always came back. Oikawa was  _pretty_ , he was extremely pretty, warm skin and delicate nose and smooth voice. 

Iwaizumi stood on the front porch of Oikawa's house, foot lightly kicking at the wall as Oikawa unlocked the door.

"You don't have to babysit me, Iwa-chan. You can go on home. I can open a door without getting kidnapped, y'know." Joking tone, light voice, and Iwaizumi still felt like he couldn't go.

"Yeah. Well. Knowing you, you'll probably break your fingers trying to open the door."

"Rude!"

He'd watched Oikawa pull the key from the lock, slip it into his pocket, turn the door handle and start to go in.

And then the rubber band around Iwaizumi's throat snapped.

He reached out, movement fast but touch slow against Oikawa's shoulder, holding him just before he could go. Oikawa turned to look at him, owlish eyes flecked with gold and lips pink. Iwaizumi felt his cheeks go warm, felt it spread down to his neck and chest and bloom inside his lungs. And he'd pulled Oikawa, pulled him close enough so that they were facing each other and the tips of their shoes were touching, and his lips started to speak before his head.

"I love you," he'd said, soft like the beginnings of the rain that were starting to thrum against the roof of Oikawa's house. His eyes were closed now, Oikawa too much to look at, a rush shooting through him and stomach in his throat.

And then he felt Oikawa's fingers close around the collar of his shirt, he felt himself being pulled forward, he felt gravity ( _or maybe something stronger_ ) start to push against his back and then he felt lips against his own. They were bitter, they were almost  _sharp_ , a chiasmus of different feelings shooting from his lips to his toes. There was thunder under his skin, and Oikawa's lips were all gentle curves and hard pushes at the same time. He was conflicting, he was like acoustic guitar strings snapping, it felt like he was kissing a fire and standing in the rain at the same time, and Iwaizumi couldn't feel his head anymore. It was burning, it was searing hot, and at the same time, there was a sort of sleepy sadness to the kiss, a slow haze that trapped a gentle slide of time and harsh push of lips and tongue and Iwaizumi couldn't be bothered to breathe.

"I love you," Iwaizumi had said, and when Oikawa kissed him hard, he'd pretended that it meant the same thing.

 

 

 

> _"If you love a flower, don't pick it up. Because if you pick it up, it dies and ceases to be what you love. So if you love a flower, let it be. Love is not about possession. Love is about appreciation."-Osho_

Iwaizumi tried to get it through his mind every time, that love wasn't possession, it was appreciation, but he couldn't appreciate in half of the ways he wanted to without feeling guilty if Oikawa wasn't his. 

When he'd heard "Oikawa" and "getting married" in the same sentence at the same time, his chest felt heavy like there was a whole ocean inside, and he just smiled and clapped him on the back.

"Congratulations. I feel bad for her," he'd laughed, tipping his head, fingers twitching on Oikawa's back.

"Mean. I was going to make you my best man."

And it was true though, what Iwaizumi said, he felt bad for her, he felt bad because she didn't  _know_ Oikawa like he did and she would be unprepared for half of the storm coming her way. She wouldn't know how to appreciate the way his hair looked when it started raining, she wouldn't know what kind of tea to make for him when he was upset, she wouldn't know how to cover him up with the duvet when he just looked at things and didn't really see them, she wouldn't know how to handle him at his worst and she sure as hell wouldn't know how to handle him at his best. She wouldn't know how to kiss the freckle between the dimples of his spine, she wouldn't know how to coax him out of the dark minutes where all he wanted was lights off and self medication, she wouldn't memorize the ridges of his knuckles and the lightning under his tongue, and Iwaizumi genuinely felt bad for her.

And so he tried to understand, tried to accept that love was appreciation and not possession, and  _god_ , did he appreciate Oikawa.  _Fuck_ , did he appreciate the oxygen that resided in Oikawa's lungs and the blood pumping through him. He appreciated Oikawa, he appreciated him so much that it was terrifying. Appreciated the hair that stood up no matter how many times he patted it down, appreciated the way Oikawa couldn't stand it when the cap on a bottle was crooked, appreciated his annoying voice and territorial sleeping habits. _  
_

Iwaizumi appreciated Oikawa, but there wasn't much to appreciate when he couldn't have him.

 

 

 

> _"Love is a joint experience between two persons - but the fact that it is a joint experience does not mean that it is a similar experience to the two people involved." _-_ Carson McCullers_

Iwaizumi can taste the smoke on his own lips and he's wondering if Oikawa is the one who's holding the stars in place. Oikawa always wanted an outdoor wedding and Iwaizumi always listened to him talk about it, but he never really thought about where he'd want to be in the wedding. 

Fingers slipping around the material of the tie that he'd taken off, Iwaizumi decides that best man wasn't it.

He'd given a speech, words heavy on his tongue as he smiled and raised his glass, wished them good fortune ( _he didn't mean it_ ). He'd spoken to the bride too, and she looked nice, black curls falling around her cheeks and lips stained red with wine and lipstick that Iwaizumi was sure was too dark for Oikawa's taste. He'd given her a smile, nodded, walked away and wished that the burning on his neck was anything other than a wish that couldn't quite rise to the surface of his skin.

There's something pounding inside his chest and it isn't really his heart, because his heart's in the pocket of Oikawa's coat. There's something pounding in Iwaizumi's chest and it's making him go numb, it's making the breath tangle in his throat and making his fingertips shake against the cigarette that they're pressing to his lips.

 _Breathe in, pull in the smoke_ , _keep it there until it stings and your eyes water_. _Let it go_ , _push it from your nose_ , _watch it flood from your lungs and taste the way it feels at the back of your throat_.

Iwaizumi misses a lot of things. He can afford to, he can miss it because it'll fill the gaps between his fingers and heighten the hollowness in his bones. He misses a lot. He misses the way Oikawa's hands are always cold, he misses the way his laugh rhymes with how he cries. He misses how he bites the inside of his right cheek when he's nervous, he misses that one stray tuft of hair that never lays down. He misses the soft "Hajime" from his lips, the way it never changed from the first time he said it.

"Hajime," Oikawa had said, three and bright and cheeks flushed, on the ground from unsteady legs. His hand was reaching up for Iwaizumi to help him to his feet.

"Hajime," Oikawa had said, thirteen and shy, standing at Iwaizumi's window in the middle of the night after another nightmare.

"Hajime," Oikawa had said, eighteen and cocky but sleepy at the moment, cheek pressed against Iwaizumi's mattress after he'd drifted off during a study session, voice so gentle that it shattered Iwaizumi's chest.

Iwaizumi leans back on his heels, taking a deep breath and listening to the sound of soft chatter. His eyes start to burn again, this time not from the cigarette smoke. He hears Oikawa's laugh once more, feels the way it spins the stars, and he just about hits the ground with tears and a smile.

Oikawa is a beautiful battlefield. He's a lovely war, he's the rehearsed "I love you's" under soft breaths. He's the song stuck in heads when it rains, he's the world tied around your wrists. Oikawa is negative time, ephemeral, yet he's eternal all at once. He's a glass sky. 

Iwaizumi just about decides that he's the reason why hurricanes are named after people.

 _I love you_ ,  _I love you so_ , the blood in his veins thrums to the beat of a confession. 

Iwaizumi takes another breath, maybe his first and maybe his last, and Oikawa's laughter sounds so close.


End file.
